


A Lesson In Giving Up

by aarid



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, College, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:14:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aarid/pseuds/aarid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's nothing more terrifying than falling for the only thing you have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Sollux is Frustrated

Your name is Sollux Captor, and, quite like every other human being on the planet, you have a problem.

However, to say that would be largely understating the truth of your situation. To be quite honest, you have a lot of problems! Probably more than most people do, or at least that's what you're convinced of. On top of being what your best friend calls "a moody bitch at the best of times", you manage to be a total introvert to the antisocial degree, a massive nerd to the point of criminal (or at least social) offense, and you can count the things you're good at on one hand. You can't get passionate about almost anything outside of your comfort zone, which, quite frankly, rarely stretches beyond your computer desk and is constantly begging for an inch more just so that it can ghost against the enticing wood of your bedroom door. And, of course, let's not forget your innate ability to say the wrong thing at the wrong time, every time. Actually, make that the right time, too. You basically just spout nothing but hurtful things at all hours of the day.

But the problems don't stop there, oh no. Anyone who sees you shirtless (i.e., every boy in your high school class, thanks to gym) would accuse you of being anorexic. Of course, it's unintentional--you don't have an eating disorder. You have a locking-yourself-in-your-room-for-days-without-eating-because-coding-and-MMOs-consume-your-soul disorder. But there's no real term for that other than "Internet Addiction", and you don't like those words in the same sentence. And the body issues just keep going! Your eyes? Yeah, you hate those. A lot. One is hazel, which you're perfectly okay with. The other looks like a smurf jacked off into a pile of broken blue glowsticks, which you're perfectly not okay with. At least you like to run. It's the only way to get you out of the house, most of the time.

So, let's tally it up, shall we? You're a bipolar, antisocial, way-too-skinny nerd with freaky eyes who shelters himself out of apathy and opens his mouth every time he has something tactless to say. Does that cover it? Of course not. That's not even the biggest problem.

The worst thing about you--the thing you are most ashamed of, that you can't stop, or help, or even do anything productive with--is that you're crushing on your best friend.

Let it be noted, of course, that this friend is your only real friend. You have a few friendly acquaintances; people you got along with enough to pair up with on projects in high school, friends on Facebook, and your coworkers at the local electronics store, but they're just that. Acquaintances. There's only one nonfamilial person in the entire world that you give a shit about, and his name is Karkat Vantas. Normally, you would berate yourself constantly for even thinking you might deserve to have someone around who knows you so fucking well and hasn't bought one-way ticket to Zimbabwe yet, but lucky for you, he's just as big of a fuck-up, not that you mind.

In fact, there are a million things you can list about him that you could argue as perfect, though you know you won't ever convince him that any of them are true.

He's incredibly insightful with others when he wants to be. Sure, he gets angry pretty much all the time, but he's not a bad person. He just has a lower bullshit tolerance level than anyone you've ever even heard of, and the voice, vocabulary, and lack of respect for the ears of the nearby children and elderly to let everyone know it. You actually think it's funny, how he manages to keep from getting arrested. You think you might die a little inside if he ever stopped being loud and angry, though. It's just another way that he shows his passion, which he has in some form for almost everything ever. It actually makes you jealous that he can just get into something whenever he wants, even if it's only for an hour, and he never touches it again. At least he tries...

That's what you love most about him. He tries, every time, no matter what. He never gives in--fuck, he never even budges an inch backwards. You can knock him to his knees, or even flat on his ass, but it never makes him stop. It never makes him turn tail and run. When he sets his mind to something, he is damn well going to see it through, whereas you? You get insulted, and you turn it into the biggest mess you possibly can in record time until there's nothing left to continue on to.

Kind of like what you're doing to this coding project you're working on.

_Something_ in here isn't working, and you can't find where you fucked up. And, of course, since you were thrown out of your groove, you've made even more mistakes in trying to figure out where your first flaw happened. It's salvagable, of course, but fuck if you can even attempt this thing called patience. It takes everything in you not to just throw the laptop out your window, but the second you think of that, you're hit with a sharp pang of guilt right in the chest. How could you ever think of destroying such a beautiful, irreplacable piece of precious machinery?

You settle for closing the lid, letting it meet its other half in sweet exhaustion, allowing it to seek refuge from your boiling emotions. You were starting to get a headache, anyway...

But, as soon as you close the damn thing, you start to wonder if that was the best choice. You have nothing else to do today. It's the middle of the summer after your graduating year, and it's sweltering hot outside, too much so to go running; you generally only do that in the evening or at night this time of year. So for now, you're spinning slowly in your office chair, surveying your shitty kingdom. The place is clean enough, only dirty clothes dotting the floor. There are some posters on your walls, depicting your interests in comics, movies, and music. Your bookshelf is over halfway full, even though you've read every manga volume, comic issue, and computer manual on it.

... Holy shit, you are a nerd.

Nevermind that, though. There's a TV in the corner, several gaming systems splayed out in front of it in a haphazard mess of wires. There's a rack of games sitting next to the setup, stacked beyond its limits with cases piled on top of the uppermost shelf and leaning against the outsides of the lowest one. There's enough entertainment equipment in here to keep you busy for months, and that's the way you like it.

For now, though, none of it looks entertaining. You stand from your chair, momentarily contemplating food or drink, before you decide it's too much effort. You glance at your gloriously unmade bed for what is probably a full thirty seconds before you decide to actually give in and let yourself collapse into it. It smells like clean laundry and your body wash at the moment, which is good, because you dragged your bedding out of the dryer before your shower last night, and if it smelled like anything else, you'd be a little concerned.

It's actually... really nice right now, though. Relaxing... You could fall asleep like this, easy. But you won't, because you know what'll happen if you do. Dreams are stupid, and you especially have come to dislike yours over the last full year of pining after that scrawny little fuck of a best friend of yours. He'll be there, taunting you... Standing just out of reach, or maybe he'll be in arms this time.

Or even worse, in your bed, writhing under your masterful fingers as you make him want you, drive him _half_ as crazy as he's driven you. You'll make him moan at first, arch into you while you taste the skin of his neck, his chest, his stomach... You'll touch the ribs you know he hates showing, set fire to every piece of him your fingertips happen to trail over in their mapping of the vast playground his body will lay out for you. And by the end of it, you'll be ripping every scream of pleasure from him, every curse coupled with a declaration of love, every beg and plea for you to keep going, don't stop, he's so close--

"Knock knock, fuckass!"

Aaaaand that's your door being rapped at, wrenching you from the thin veil of sleep you never intended to fall into.

You sit up, doing your best to fill your head with the most disgusting thoughts possible just to kill the threatening boner.

"Thup?" Way to sound graceful, Captor.

Oh, and did we forget to mention your lisp? Add another to the list of fuck-ups in your life. If only your parents had known beforehand; maybe they wouldn't have cursed you with such a horrible first name...

"You answered, so I'm gonna go ahead and assume that your eyes aren't welding themselves to lines of shitty coding right now, and that you haven't managed to collapse from exhaustion, which means, of course, that I have to fucking ask permission to open your door. Right?"

The voice filters in pretty mutedly, but you know it's Karkat. You can't help the feeling tugging your lips into a smirk. Your mother probably greeted him when he walked his angry little ass in through your unlocked front door, gave him a cookie or something. She loves him way too much.

"Right."

There's a heavy sigh, built out of nothing but impatience and irritation.

"Oh, Mr. Captor, won't you please grant me entrance into your humble living quarters, so that I may shove my lowly foot up your tight ass?"

You snort out a laugh, falling onto your back on the mattress.

"Door'th unlocked, shithead."

The knob jiggles and turns, the door swings open, and there he is.

Karkat Vantas. The double-edged sword you can't seem to bring yourself to drop.


	2. In Which Karkat Gets In Over His Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I write a lot. Sorry for the novels, kids.

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and, quite like every other human being on the planet, you have a problem.

However, to say that would be largely understating the truth of your situation. To be quite honest, you have a lot of problems! Probably more than most people do, or at least that's what you're convinced of. On top of being what your best friend calls "ath thtubborn ath a brick wall and jutht ath willing to lithten", you manage to be a total asshole to the antisocial degree, a massive romcom addict to the point of criminal offense, and you can count the things you like about the world on one hand. You're never quite good enough to do anything right, no matter how many times you try, or how hard you push your limits. And, of course, let's not forget your innate talent of saying the worst thing you can think of to every person you ever meet. Actually, you're not even sorry for that one; you tend to do it on purpose. You basically just spout nothing but insults and disgusting colors of the English language at each and every living thing.

But the problems don't stop there, oh no. Anyone who sees you shirtless (i.e., Sollux) would accuse you of needing a goddamn cheeseburger. Of course, it's unintentional--you don't have an eating disorder. You have a hating-eating-in-front-of-people-but-always-gluing-yourself-to-Sollux's-side-because-you-hate-being-alone-even-more disorder. But there's no real term for that other than "clingy bitch", and you punch Sollux every time he calls you that, so you just tend to avoid losing your shirt. And the social issues just keep going! Your family? Yeah, you hate it. A lot. Not that you have much of one--your mom died when you were four, and your dad's only ever home to stock the liquor cabinet and drink for a couple of days, maybe throw an insult or two your way. At least he's never home. Neither are you, though...

So, let's tally it up, shall we? You're a short, angry teenager with Daddy Issues who hates showing any skin past the elbows and opens his mouth every time he sees someone he hates, which is every time you see someone. Does that cover it? Of course not. That's not even the biggest problem.

The worst thing about you--the thing you are most ashamed of, that you can't stop, or help, or even manage to work toward getting better about--is that you're jealous of your best friend.

Let it be noted, of course, that this friend is your only real friend. You have a few people you don't hate; people who put up with you long enough to do projects in high school, people who laugh at your rage on Facebook, and a coworker or two at a local fast food chain restaurant, but they're just that. People. There's only one person in the entire world that you give a shit about, and his name is Sollux Captor. Normally, you would berate yourself constantly for fucking up with him, pissing him off, fighting with him, and still have him show up at 3AM when your dad's come home to sneak you out your window and bring you back to his place to watch movies on his laptop, but lucky for you, he thinks he's just as big of a fuck-up. It pisses you off.

There are a million things you can list about him that you could argue as valuable, though you know you won't ever convince him that any of them are true.

He's incredibly intelligent, to the degree that he could probably make a career out of anything mathetmatical or scientific. Sure, he's a seriously moody bitch; one second he's hating on himself, the next he's on top of the world and shoving it in your face, but he's not a bad person. He's just fucking bipolar, and so obsessive over the few things he's really into that he forgets to eat unless you shove a hot pocket into his hands at his mother's request. You think it's ridiculous, how he manages to keep from collapsing from malnutrition. You know you would die inside if he ever got any serious health problems from that. Luckily, he manages to keep fit enough from his running hobby that it's less of a problem--he eats like a horse when he's back from a run. It makes him feel great, and then he just gets into his work like nobody's business and perfects every piece of it.

That's what you hate most about him. He's just naturally good at what he does. He doesn't even have to _try_ to learn new things--fuck, he absorbs information like a sponge. You can quiz him on anything, down to pop culture, and he'll get every answer right, every time. He never trips up on his facts. He takes to information and hobbies like water, whereas you? You try over and over to get one thing right, never manage it, and end up at Sollux's door to distract yourself from your inevitable failure as a human being.

Kind of like what you're doing right now as you knock on the front door of his house.

His mother answers, as per the usual, her short stature always making you feel a little better than yourself. She greets you in her usual Japanese accent, something you've become accustomed to since gradeschool. At least she talks to you, though, unlike Mr. Captor. He may not be very muscular, but he still intimidates the fuck out of you, and why not? He's tall, lean, and his olive skin and dark hair reflect his Grecian heritage. The color scheme, couple with the fact that he never smiles or speaks, makes him just a little mysterious, and a lot frightening. You know he's warmed up to you over the years, but that doesn't make him that much less terrifying.

You don't look for him, though, figuring he's either in his room or still at work. You're just going to kick off your shoes at the door and follow Mrs. Captor into the kitchen as she chatters away at you, asking how you are, offering you food, and telling you Sollux hasn't been out of his room all day, so could you please take this back to him? She hands you a small package of cheese puffs and a can of soda. Junk food is better than nothing, the both of you know that. You take an extra soda, though, nodding to her as you head back to see that dearest friend of yours.

You speak up before you knock, announcing your arrival.

"Knock knock, fuckass!"

You hit the door a little harder than you should, but it's not the first time. It takes him a second to respond.

"Thup?" The voice filters out pretty mutedly, but the lisp is undeniably Sollux. You can't help but roll your eyes. You know he's not busy. He could just tell you to come in, but he's not going to.

"You answered, so I'm gonna go ahead and assume that your eyes aren't welding themselves to lines of shitty coding right now, and that you haven't managed to collapse from exhaustion, which means, of course, that I have to fucking ask permission to open your door. Right?"

There's a pause, and you know he's grinning.

"Right."

You sigh, and it's built out of nothing but impatience and irritation. You muster up the fucks to give enough to respond in the most insincere tone.

"Oh, Mr. Captor, won't you please grant me entrance into your humble living wuarters, so that I may shove my lowly foot up your tight ass?"

He laughs, and it makes you feel a little better, even if you want to punch him.

"Door'th unlocked, shithead."

You grab the knob, turning it and opening the door, and there he is.

Sollux Captor, the boy who can't give himself half the credit he deserves, splayed out on his bed like an idiot.

You walk inside, bumping the door shut with your heel and tossing the bag of chips and one of the sodas at him. He catches them perfectly, an advantage to being so used to one another's energy and mannerisms. You react by walking over to the bed and jumping onto it, landing your legs on Sollux's stomach and your head on the pillow.

"What have you been doing? Your mom says you haven't come out today."

He heaves a sigh, and you feel your legs rise and fall with his torso.

"Coding project. Getting paid for thith one, but I fucked it up. I don't even wanna look at the fileth right now."

You stare down at your feet, moving your toes around for a moment while you think. Then you glance at the soda in your hand, debating opening it, but settling for putting it on the carpet next to the bed.

"How bad is it?"

"Probably not too shitty, but I'm gonna blow a gathket if I try to fuck wiht it at the moment. Why're you here?" Sollux glances over at you, raising an eyebrow. As usual, you can see the difference in his eye color behind his tinted glasses. You don't understand why he hates his eyes so much--you could, embarrassingly, stare at them for hours. It actually makes you pause before you respond, and you end up looking at the ceiling.

"What, I can't come over here for no fucking reason? Christ, Sollux, I thought we were friends. What happened to just dropping in on someone for the sake of hanging out?"

"Holy shit, calm your titth, Vantath." He shoves at your legs.

"Don't have any, Captor." You kick his arm.

"Could have fooled me." He runs a finger up the arch of your foot, and you jerk your leg up, growling at him just so that you don't have to make any embarrassing noises.

"Hey, fuck you!"

Suddenly, something changes in him. You've seen it a lot lately--and it's getting hard to ignore. You say something that gives him an inch, and, well. You know what's coming. He shoves your legs down to his lap, sitting up and leaning over you.

"You couldn't handle me." His voice comes out low, and coupled with the shit-eating grin and that intense hunger in his eyes, as if he intends to swallow you whole, you can't help it. Your face heats up, and your stomach twists. You lose the ability to think straight or identify the panic electrifying you--that same feeling has been happening more often in recent weeks, even though you don't know why. You're used to this behavior, he's been doing it for months now.

You've even been having dreams, though... You're hanging out with him, and he throws you on the floor and pins you there. Suddenly you can't breathe, and it's not because he's knocked the air out of you. It's because he's on top of you, leaned in close, just... staring at you.

You wake up with your body on fire every time, and immediately fly to a cold shower.

But that's not here. Not entirely. It's getting there, though, and you need to do something about it.

"W-...what the fuck, Sollux, get out of my face!" You shove at his chest and he falls back laughing, a sound that makes you even more uncomfortable now. You shove him again, glaring daggers at him. How he musters up that act so quickly is beyond you. "Fucking hell, you're weird."

"Yeah, whatever. Did you wanna do thomething?" He turns his head toward you again, casual smile on his face. You just stare at him, completely straight-faced.

"Give me a foot rub. I had a long morning shift."

He pauses, raising his eyebrows at you. "Theriouthly?"

You weren't serious. But you'll push it. "Yeah. Come on. I know your mom taught you, she tells me to get a shoulder rub from you every time I come in here half tired. Show me what you've got."

It's at this moment that you start to wonder just what you're getting yourself into. What you expect is a snort and a dismissal. What you expect is insults. What you expect is to get pushed off the bed. What you don't expect is for Sollux to sit up with your feet in his lap and tug the socks off.

Well. The look on your face must be priceless, because the look on his is somewhere between devilish and nervous when he takes your foot between his hands. He looks away from your face and down at what he's doing, and the first stroke is a smooth, thin thumb pressed up through the arch of your foot. The pleasure that rushes you is something you don't experience often. It's no wonder that your head rolls back, and you make a sound you have _never_ made before.

Great. He's good at _everything._

Sollux Captor, the shadow you're incapable of stepping out of.


	3. In Which Sollux Spends Some Time Reflecting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm making it my goal to have one of them fantasize about the other in every chapter.

Your name is Sollux Captor, and, unlike most human beings on the planet, your best friend is currently making your pants uncomfortably tight.

When he told you to give him a foot massage, you were pretty much positive he was just yanking your chain. But he was right--your mother taught you the proper way to do this a very long time ago, and you've had plenty of practice in recent years. She tells you that you've got a natural talent for these things--magic hands, if you will. And so, you thought you might give him a chance to see that, which is why you sat up and prepared to give him the best damn foot rub ever.

... You didn't expect him to be this... _receptive_ , though.

He's practically writhing right now, and oh dear god, the _noises_... You know you should stop. Your head is _screaming_ at you to stop, but against your better judgment, your body is demanding you keep going.

You press your thumb into the arch of his foot, and his eyes squeeze shut. He mutters a curse when your knuckle digs along the soft skin under his toes. You work his heel, and he gasps, and fuck it all, because this is different than your dreams and your fantasies. This is _better. _These are real noises, real, unrelentingly _attractive___ sounds coming out of Karkat's throat, and when you're through with one foot, you do the same to the second, and the pleased hums and squirming continue until you manage to hit a particularly tense spot, and you feel your own body heat up when that hum becomes an unexpected and totally unfair moan.

"A-aaah, _fuck_ , Sollux! Why didn't you tell me you could.... do... _this?_ " He stumbles over his words, seemingly unable to find the proper wording for the object of his praise.

"Eheheh... You never athked me."

Not a lie, of course. The tale of your prowess may have been spun by your mother, but she's too sweet most of the time. As far as you know, he didn't take her that seriously. She's the only one who gushes about you, and she does it damn near constantly.

"Jesus Christ, what am I supposed to ask? 'Hey, Sollux, do you have the dexterous fingers of the Gods?' This is ridiculo-aah!" You snort a laugh as the sound jumps from his throat, but you feel yourself lock up as he arches his back off of the mattress. His shirt starts to lift, out of his control, and your eyes lock onto the skin, glimpsing his navel as it peeks out and scanning over the line of his jeans. His leg shifts when your hands tense, and it brushes against something you are quite certain needs to not be there. The very last thing you need is for Karkat to know that he's giving you a goddamn boner. 

A sudden panic starts in the pit of your stomach, and you push his feet off of your lap, standing up and going for the door.

Karkat takes a second to get to his elbows, giving you a half-concerned, half irritatedly confused look. "What? Where the fuck are you going?"

"Need to take a shower. Kinda feel groth, I wathn't feeling too hot latht night. We can go get thomething to eat when I'm out. Better than chipth and thoda."

You chance a glance back at him before opening the door, catching sight of a slightly disappointed face. You're just glad he can't see the front of you right now.

"Whatever." He flops back against the bed again, heaving an impatient sigh. You smirk just a bit, turning to leave the room and head into the bathroom...

The door closes behind you with a click, and you pause to lean against it. You don't look at the knob while you turn the lock to secure it, too busy staring at the wall opposite you. There's a full-length mirror there, standing tall to show you the mess you've made of yourself. The problem is obvious. 

The problem is that you're standing in your bathroom, about to either do something terrible, or try to get rid of the tent you're pitching some other way, while the boy you've been friends with for a decade is sitting on your bed, being impossibly enticing. The problem is that you'd rather be in your bedroom with him, clothes on the floor, having _him_ take care of your needs. The problem is that you want to make him have needs, too, and you want him to beg for you to take care of them. You want him to make you. You want him to moan like that again, and you want to hear him say your name like that.

You grab a towel off the rack as you walk to the mirror and drape it over the top, covering your shameful image and disrobing. You turn to the standing shower, reaching in and turning the water on. It heats up while you take your glasses off, setting them on the counter before you pause. You debate on what you're about to do for all of ten seconds before you turn around and get into the shower.

As you step in, your intentions are set. You're _aching_ with need right now, and you can't be assed to give a shit about morals anymore. The water washes over you, and you feel the heat stinging your skin. The pressure of the water is strong, and your tenseness is starting to smooth out already. The stress isn't melting away, like it usually does, but it's not exactly the best time to be thinking about that. 

It's not long before you're putting yourself into the act, mind drifting easily to the sounds that are still fresh and echoing in your mind. The way he said your name, the curses, the _moaning_... This isn't the first time you've done this, but now, it's different. Now, it has substance; something real to go on, a freshly-recorded audio track to lay over the video. It takes nothing to imagine other ways you could make him make those noises. They've already played out in your mind a million times--the ways you would touch him, kiss him, and fuck him are all brewed up daily, like a lazy morning's hot cup of shame in the most creative sense.

It's not until your arm is starting to get a little tired and your knees are shaking just slightly and it's not just water swirling down the drain that the shame of it all hits you. Your dignity is washing away, leaving nothing but a sick guilt. The wall of the shower is cool against your forehead, and you can't tell if the air around your face is cooler or hotter than your heavy breath. Your fingertips are pressed hard into the tiles, and the water hitting your back is only amplifying the rushing heartbeat pounding in your ears, and holy shit, you're afraid to leave the shower, because it's the only thing covering the sound of your conscience screeching at you for all it's worth.

But you can't avoid it. Karkat's waiting for you, and that makes you sick. You turn off the water, and it makes you sicker. Your heart is pumping guilt through your veins, shame befriending it like oxygen and riding it to every corner of your body. You want your best friend. You want him so bad that you fantasize over him, and graphically depict the ways you would do the worst things possible to him; and as you towel yourself dry and tug your clothes on, feeling the twist and ache of unrequited affections in your stomach and heart when you unlock the bathroom door and exit to retrieve your best friend from what will inevitably be an accidental nap on your bed, you realize for the thousandth time...

It's hopeless.


	4. In Which Karkat Feels a Little Too Much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda short. And delayed. :

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and, unlike most human beings on the planet, your best friend is currently listening to you chew his ear off on the phone while he's in the middle of handle customers at work.

You've never had any problem calling him at the most inopportune times. Actually, you kind of prefer it. It means he's going to pay attention to you, so he can tell you what you need to hear and get back to whatever he's supposed to be doing. So when you get on your break, and you're so mad that you can't even see straight, you're glad his number is in your muscle memory, because the automatic pressing of buttons is all you can handle. He picks up, even though you know he's mid-shift, and you pretty much instantly bite the phone in half with tone alone.

"I'm gonna kill him. He'll be dead, and I'll be happy, and the world will be a better fucking place, because no one will have to look at _Eridan Ampora_ and his 'I own everything in the world so you have to stare at my bony, unattractive ass if you're not shoving your tongue between the cheeks' attitude."

" _... Tho I'm guething he came through the drive through._ "

"He's a vegetarian who could survive off of eating hundred-dollar bills for the next eighty-five years, and he came through a fast food restaurant. Do you know why? To buy a soda. A small. Soda."

" _I take it that'th not why you think he thtopped in._ "

You slam yourself into the back door of the establishment, crumpling down into a ball with your head behind your knees. You are the angriest ball. It is you.

" _FUCK NO, IT'S NOT!_ You know why he came in today, Sollux?"

" _To thee your thmiling fathe and be reminded that the little people are happy too?_ "

"Fuck you! He came in to piss me off! He knew I was working, he _had to_ , there's no fucking way he didn't."

Sollux sounds less than impressed. " _KK, how could he have come in jutht to anatagonithe you?_ " You can tell he's avoiding the use of vulgar language. His mutter about a price total on an order tells you he has more consideration than you do for his work place.

"Because he came to my window and did nothing but chatter at me in that obnocious New Zealand accent about his new car--which, by the way, is the second new car this month! Which means this is the _second fucking time_ he's come over to shove that shit in my face this month. I fucking hate him, Sollux. I'm gonna murder him if I ever see those retarded hipster glasses again. He _always_ acts like he owns half the fucking town, and he does nothing but shove it in people's faces--especially mine!"

" _KK. Hith dad **doeth** own half the town. That meanth he doeth, too._ "

Your head falls back against the door. It hurts a bit, but you don't even react to it. "Shut the fuck up, I didn't ask your opinion."

" _Right, right. Tho did you call me jutht to vent about him tho you don't ekthplode in front of anyone?_ "

"No, I already did that." The bite drains from your voice, passing the communication baton to guilt and what could only be described as a vocal indignant pout.

" _Wait, what? KK, what the--mn._ " Don't cuss, Sollux. He lowers his voice to a mutter. " _You're gonna get fired._ "

"Am not. I just... I'm not allowed to talk to anyone. My boss knows what's up at home, he's not gonna fire me unless I fuck up too many times. One more and I'm out, but at the moment, I'm not allowed to interact with anything but the order monitor and the food until further notice." You know you're blessed. You've got a deadbeat dad, and half the time, if you actually want to eat, you have to buy it yourself. You don't like doing that--you're saving up for a place of your own, someplace you won't have to deal with his drunk and abusive behavior. You've told Sollux about this plan, but he always seems a little uneasy about it. It's kept you from asking him to move in with you when you do leave home.

He actually sounds a little apologetic now. " _KK, jutht... Don't think about it, okay? It'th alright, you aren't getting fired. If you get uneathy, you're gonna end up thnapping at thomeone again a lot thooner._ "

You know he's right. He always is. It's irritating, sometimes.

"I know, okay? Just... Fuck."

" _Forget about it. Come over here when you're shift'th over and we'll go do thomething._ "

You stare ahead of you at the pavement of the rear parking lot for several silent seconds before you exhale.

"Fine."

" _Thee you at three._ "

"Alright."

You take your phone away from your ear, staring down at it and spacing out at the ticking number as it goes for twenty-two seconds past the time you stopped talking. Then the screen turns brighter as the call ends, and you continue to stare at his name, highlighted at the top of your list of recent calls. His name is on every single entry. You feel a little sick, thinking about what you did today. The way you screamed at him, the frightened look on his face, on your _co-worker's_ faces.... Your manager looked so tired, so exasperated with your behavior. He looked disappointed. You hate that more than anything. Your father never looks disappointed... Just sad at himself, or angry at you. Disappointment is something you just can't handle, because it doesn't mean you're butting heads with them. It means you did something _wrong_ , something they really wish you hadn't... Something you can't fix, and they know it.

You want nothing more than to be near Sollux right now. You consider taking the rest of your shift off and just going to wait outside of his store, but you need the hours... You need the money. You tell yourself he'll be there later. Just another two hours, and you can count on him to make it better, no matter how much you hate relying on anyone but yourself.

It scares you, but you have no idea what you would do if you lost him.


	5. In Which Sollux Gets A Treat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for 1000+ hits, you guys!

Your name is Sollux Captor, and you're feeling pretty good about your best friend right now.

It's about time for work to be over. You've been watching the clock for an hour now, quickly helping anyone who might happen to bring an electronic to the desk, whether it be for malfunction assistance or the retail variety, and all for the sake of staring at the face ticking away the seconds on the wall. At half past two, you know he's off work. And quarter-til three, your KK Senses are making the back of your neck itch, because you know he's right outisde. The last five minutes hit and you finish stocking the flash drives in the corner as fast as you can, practically jumping to the break room to clock out and grab your bag. You hustle to the back door, reaching out and grabbing the handle before you stop...

... and take in a slow breath, forcing a calm and collected air around you because you can't just run out with your tail wagging to see your depressed best friend. You sigh out the breath, finally opening the door casually and taking a step out into the afternoon sun. You let it swing close behind you, and take a second to pretend you're looking at your phone before something you simply can't ignore takes hold of you. There's a smell in the air, and it's familiar in the best way. Your eyes dart to the side and settle on the object of your affections sitting against the wall and, more importantly, the bag of food sitting next to him.

The fucker got you chicken tenders.

It's a shame you can't enjoy that fact right away. He's staring up at you from the ground, and you glance up to his face. Instantly, your attention is diverted from the subject of food and to the softness his features are currently harboring. Let it be known that he still looks tense and angry, and if you tried to tell anyone on the street that he's actually significantly subdued at this moment, they would probably back away slowly with looks of sheer terror on their faces, and you wouldn't really be able blame them. The point is, you know him better than that. You know him better than anyone, and to be honest, he looks like he's about to cry, which makes you feel like a ripe pile of shit. You simply cannot stand it when Karkat gets upset. His energy is always at a static level, high on the spectrum, and being so in tune with it means that you feel it when it drops or spikes. He's disturbed from his comfort zone, and falling toward a pit of self-hatred that you've become far too acquainted with in your time as his best friend. You've also gotten to be good friends with the quickest routes out of that dark little cave, meaning you can't deny that you want nothing more than to curl your arms around him and pet him until he feels better. However, being a dude and all, that would be a little awkward to do on the street in broad daylight. So instead, you pocket your phone and reach your hand out for him.

"C'mon, KK. Let'th go rent a movie or thomething."

He stares at your hand for what seems like a lifetime. He hasn't made a sound yet, and that makes you nervous. It's not like Karkat to be quiet in any way, shape, or form, but here he is, curled up against the wall and silent as the grave. It takes everything in you not to heave a sigh of relief when he reaches up and grips your hand with one of his, the opposite one grabbing the bag of food. You pull him to his feet, and he brushes himself off when you let go of his hand. Impossibly dark eyes look up at you again, and his eyebrows furrow.

"I'm picking."

You smirk. "Tell me what'th in the bag firtht."

He glances at it, then back at you. "I think you know what's in the bag."

"I think I want what'th in the bag."

"I think you damn well better want what's in the bag."

"KK, give me my food."

He shoves it to your chest, and you waste no time in digging in as the two of you set off for the rental store. It may just be fast food, but fuck it all, it is delicious. You're halfway done before realize he's gone totally silent again. Your heart starts to sink, but if you know one thing, it's that the best way to distract Karkat from being sad is to piss him off. You get right to work on that.

"KK." He looks over at you, granting you his attention. "You want one?"

You gesture to him with the box of chicken in your hand. He shrugs, perfectly unaware of your plan. You pick up one of the pieces, put the end between your teeth, and lean dangerously close to his mouth, giving him your best, most flirtatious shit-eating grin. His response is, predictably, to turn the brightest shade of red he can and shove your face away from his.

"Fuck--what the hell are you doing?!" There we go. A snickering laugh makes its way into the air around the two of you as his voice bounces off the buildings in an echo of the publicly offensive variety, and your shoulders shake with it. You take a bite of the chicken before putting the piece back in the box for the moment.

"Sharing, dumbath. Come on, you know you want thome."

You're pretty sure he's becoming aware that you're no longer talking about chicken tenders.

"Wh--no! Fuck you!"

"Maybe later."

He shoves you. You stumble to the left, over the sidewalk and into the shoulder of the street, but you don't let it stop you from laughing a little louder. You hop up onto the sidewalk again and back to his side with zero effort, glancing over what you can see of his ears to determine just how red they are. You're rewarded with a splash of crimson, and you feel some satisfaction in that. Within a few seconds, the moment fades, but a more upbeat feeling resides in the air around the two of you now. He's still not talking much, but he looks about sixty percent less like a kicked puppy than he did three minutes ago, so you know you're on the right track.

While you finish the meal your best friend so generously brought you as tribute for taking care of him, a little realization worms its way into your train of thought. You think about Karkat on a romantic level damn near constantly, but for all of your fantasizing--for all of your Alone Time in the shower or late at night in your room, there's not a trace of lies or denial in you when you tell yourself it's so much more than sexual attraction. He was your friend first; your _best_ friend, your _everything._ You would rather hold him than fuck him. You would rather make him smile, care about himself half as much as you care about him, maybe even get a genuine laugh out of him like the one that first stopped your heart and gave you butterflies like every stupid romcom he's devoted himself to. When it comes down to it, you need him more than you want him. Before you know it, you're finding yourself in a rare moment of inner peace. When you think about how devoted you are to Karkat, it gets a little easier to come to terms with your feelings for him.

It scares you, but at times like this, you think you might be able to tell him one day.


	6. In Which Karkat Finds Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then I came back, after four months. Whoops.

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you're honestly comfortable for the first time in your life.

You thought you'd experienced this before. In the past, you've had times where you've been happy, calm, and actually at peace. They've been rare, always with Sollux, and consistently fleeting.

This is not that. You've been wrong. You haven't begun to know what feeling absolute serenity is—not until now.

This morning was terrible. You'd actually cried a little, while you had been walking across town to wait for Sollux to get out of work. But the moment he was out the door and at your side, your mood had begun to improve. You hadn't managed to make it all the way to your usual angry, ranting, raving self, but you had managed to not be a mess. However, when Sollux finally got you through the video store and into his room, he apparently hadn't been satisfied with your progression. He corralled you into the bed, set the movie up, and climbed in with you, sitting next to you at first and tucking your legs under the blanket with his.

It was about twenty minutes into the movie that he put his arm around you and shifted closer. Naturally, you did the same, engrossed in the movie and still considerably more subdued than you'd been the day before. At first, it was just this; your head resting comfortably on his shoulder, his hand cupped around your upper arm. But you started to notice something, when his hand lifted to your hair and started threading through it over and over in a slow, easy motion. You felt a chill run down your spine, a tingling sensation flowing out from the back of your neck to travel across your shoulder blades and down your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. The movie fled from your mind, slipping out of your field of vision as your eyes followed the line of his legs under the blanket and up to his face. He wasn't looking at you then, and he still hasn't.

Since then, you've barely paid any attention to the screen. You've kept your eyes on it, for the most part, but you don't feel the slightest guilt in the fact that you are completely spaced out. Sollux has continued the rhythmic stroking of your hair, which has you soothed to an unbelievable degree. You've taken note of his warmth, now, and of the gentleness in his touch. He's never been affectionate like this before. You've woken up tangled in each other before, but you never cared to think about it before now. Those were always the nights you had slept the best, now that you think about it.

Even as the movie comes to a close, you don't want to move. The thought hasn't even crossed your mind. You're safe and warm, and you just feel so right that, as far as you're concerned, you can never move again, and you'll be happy for the rest of your life. You're relaxed. You're satisfied. 

Sollux doesn't even try to move you. He leans a little more into you when the credits end and he turns the TV off, but he doesn't say anything to ruin the tranquility. He can tell you're falling asleep without the movie to keep your senses subconsciously engaged in something, and he seems to be perfectly alright with passing out here, not a word spoken in protest.

Your consciousness is slipping away. In Sollux's arms, you find security. In security, you find easy sleep.

Finally, for one night, you feel okay with your life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but sweet. ♥


	7. In Which The Bed Is Empty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally sat down and read what I wrote on this before. I'm not pleased with it, but I intend to finish it.

Your name is Sollux Captor, and something, somewhere, went wrong.

You don't know what happened. When you fell asleep with Karkat the night before, he was sound asleep, relaxed, and content. You'd never seen him so happy, and in correlation, you had never felt so good about yourself. To bring Karkat happiness is to bring meaning to your life. That's how you feel about it. That's how you've always felt about it.

So why, you whisper to yourself in the back of your mind as the insecurities reverberate between the walls, did you wake up alone?

You thought you'd been doing it right. You thought you had finally been doing something flawlessly the first time... but as the sunlight creeping in the crack of your blinds coaxed your eyes softly open, your blurry gaze settled on the empty space beside you, and you felt cold.

You sit now at the end of your bed, hunched over with your elbows on your knees and your phone in your hands. Your feet are flat on the ground, no anxiety-driven shakes to be found. It's like you can't conjure any energy further than what it takes to stare at your phone and light up the lock screen every minute. You flick through the texts you've sent him.

'9:07am  
kk?'

No response.

'9:12am  
where diid you go?  
are you ok?

'9:33am  
ii know you don't have work twoday.

'9:35am  
diid ii do 2omethiing wrong?'

Your grip has tightened, and when you shift your fingers, you hear the device creak under the pressure.

'9:42am  
kk plea2e  
iif ii 2crewed up you have two let me know  
don't leave me iin the dark liike thii2.'

You get up to shower, hoping some of the irrational guilt and worry will wash away with the water, but as you stand in the heated water, staring down at the drain as the white soap bubbles pile themselves around the edge of the metal circle, you start to come to terms with the fact that it never does. This is a feeling you can't avoid, and you've never been able to. It creeps up behind you with good intentions and the hope that someday you'll be happy with yourself, and takes the liberty of bashing you in the back of the head with the fact that there isn't a single thing you can recall that you've done right in your life, and Karkat is the best example.

Something you did ruined that perfect night. He woke up next to you and it wasn't where he wanted to be, and you don't see how you could possibly not be to blame for this. You came onto him too strong. Where did you get off thinking he would be okay with that much affection? It's not rocket science, Captor. You're positive that this is what drove him away. This is why he won't talk to you. You suffocate him. You suffocate everyone.

When the water is off, and the steam is settling, you start the hateful-morning ritual staring contest with the bathroom mirror. You don't like what you see today. You understand why Karkat wouldn't, either.

When you reach out and wipe the steam off of the screen of your phone, you consider ignoring it. You shouldn't bother him any more. He'll come to you if he really wants to talk, and you don't assume he will in the near future. You realize, somewhere in the middle of it, that you're probably a little too okay with that fact. He's better off, right?

Your finger glides over the lock screen button, and you press it down, swiping the screen away to get to the conversation you'd been carrying with an unwilling ear.

'11:13am  
ii'm 2orry.'


	8. In Which Karkat Experiences Something New

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you've never been this scared.

As such, you're doing the only thing you'e ever known to do when you're afraid; wander, anywhere but where the problem is. It's been hours since you started, and the emptiness in your stomach is starting to hurt, but if you slow down to get food, you aren't sure what you'll do. You're relying on the steady rhythm of your foosteps against the cold concrete to keep your train of thought on track so that you can work this out in your mind.

You've always admired Sollux. He's always made you feel good about yourself when you needed to, and he's never been afraid to tell you you're being a twat when you are, in fact, being a gigantic twat. You've had so much respect for him in the past for being able to put up with you, and for wanting to do so, that any fights, you've been able to forgive. You've become dependent on him.

But now, something has changed.

You awoke next to him at false dawn, as the sky was starting to lighten. His arms were still wrapped around you, hugging you gently yet securely to his chest. You felt warm. You felt happy. You remembered the night before... and then, you felt something different.

You watched his closed eyes, imagining the stark differences in color that lay beneath, and your heart started racing. Your gaze followed the outline of his cheekbones, invisibly tracing angles down to his chin, and your face heated up, hitting you with a healthy dose of dizziness. Your focus settled on his lips, parted just slightly and moving so gently with each breath that it took you several seconds of staring to notice it. You took note of the redness, places where he had chewed in worry, and somehow thought fondly of them. Your mouth had dried out, suddenly, and the dizzying made you nauseous.

You had no idea what was going on. It had been such a mixture of good and bad sensations that you didn't know what to do, or how to react. It made you uncomfortable, and unsettled the peace you'd fallen into the night before. You'd never felt so much at one time in your entire life.

So, you ran away, and here you are now, trying like your life depends on it to ignore the buzzing in your pocket that you know is Sollux.

It kills you inside to know that your best friend is trying to talk to you, trying to make things right because he knows they're wrong, and you can't bring yourself to respond. Every time your hand brushes against your pocket, you feel the hard edge of the device, and the idea of trying to talk to Sollux makes your heart start pounding again.

It's probably almost noon by the time your stomach hurts bad enough that you have to stop and sit down. You look up to see where you are, and you've managed to let the city streets guide you to work. You move to the back of the building, and take a seat on the back step, hugging your knees and putting your forehead in them. Finally, your thoughts start to take a turn away from how you're feeling. You have to focus on something else. Unfortunately, the only thing on your mind right now is Sollux. You start to think about how he's feeling right now, and what he's doing. What happened to him when he woke up this morning and found you gone, alone in his bed?

"... Fuck."

You scramble for your phone, opening the conversation and reading through the onslaught of attempts to reach you, each more desperate than the last. You were right; he knows something is wrong. How are you supposed to talk about this, though? You don't even know what you're feeling. You don't know _why_ you left. You know it wasn't anything he did, or at least, that seems logical...

It takes what feels like a lifetime to think of how to handle this. In the end, you settle on burying the problem behind a thick curtain of alibis.

'11:56am  
HOLY SHIT, SOLLUX, CALM DOWN.   
I GOT CALLED INTO WORK, BUT I DIDN'T WANT TO WAKE YOU UP.   
EVERYTHING'S FINE.'

'11:56am  
oh  
2hiit  
2orry'

'11:56am  
IT'S FINE.  
ARE YOU GONNA BE OKAY?'

'11:57am  
yeah  
fuck ii look liike a jacka22 now.  
do you wanna go to the mall or 2omethiing?  
are you off work now?'

You take a moment to decide whether you want to take him up on the offer. You don't know if you can handle seeing him right now, especially when you're still in the dark about what's happening. Still, you can't just leave him out in the cold, or he'll know something's wrong.

'11:58am  
YEAH.  
I CAN DO THAT.  
WANT ME TO JUST MEET YOU THERE OR WHAT?'

'11:58am  
2ure.  
ii'll get dre22ed and head over.'

'11:58  
OKAY.'

You wait until the screen of the phone darkens and turns off on its own, staring at your reflection in the black surface for a minute before you get up and dust yourself off. You decide to get something to eat here and finish it out back before you go. That should give you enough time to collect yourself and get ready to be in front of him again.

When you finish, you throw the trash away, and take a deep breath, lookin in the direction of the mall. It's going to be a long day, you can feel it.

You just hope you'll be able to keep your cool...


End file.
